


Senses

by TaintedLoves



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Magic, Magic Bondage, Mid-season 3, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Torture, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, mostly canon-compliant, viravos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaintedLoves/pseuds/TaintedLoves
Summary: King Viren is planning his invasion of Xadia, with the help of his elven advisor. He can already hear and see Aaravos through magic, and now the elf instructs him to perform a series rituals to access his remaining senses: Smell, Touch and Taste.
Relationships: Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 158





	1. Scent – Three Days Before the Invasion – Part One

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting, this will get very dirty. Enjoy.

Viren returned to his chambers with a headache, just as the sun was beginning to set outside. The day had been spent in the throne room with his advisers and his generals.

  
The crown had only been his for a few days, but long conferences and war councils were hardly new. And yet, the weight on his own shoulders had grown heavier now that he was no longer a mere adviser, no longer a temporary regent, but the crowned king of Katolis.  
In only three days time, their gathered forces would begin their march on Xadia, and between supplies and battle strategies, there appeared to be an infinite number of things to prepare.

“You will need to keep a close eye on Prince Kasef,” a deep voice said beside Viren as he sat down in the armchair near the fire.  
His eyes followed the ghostly shape of his elven advisor, his constant companion now.

  
“I know,” the mage replied. The headstrong prince of Neolandia had shown a tendency to advocate for shortcuts and simplifications to their planning wherever possible. Youthful recklessness, Viren judged. He leaned forward to pour himself a cup of wine from the pitcher on the table before him. “Perhaps I should give Kasef some concrete responsibility to keep him busy, to give him something to focus on.”  
“Not any task that requires patience or precision though,” Aaravos said. The elf was slowly pacing the length of the room, past the long shelves of ingredients and magical components that Viren always kept at hand.

  
“No,” Viren agreed, amused. He sipped his wine and tried to relax into the comfortable chair, willing his headache to go away and letting his lids close.  
“I’m afraid the day’s work is not yet done.”

  
Viren’s eyes flew open at the closeness of the familiar voice. The elf was leaning over him, hovering at an impossible angle to the floor, pale hair falling forward.  
“What do you mean?” Viren challenged. The last thing he needed right now was more duties on his mind.

  
“There are...,” Aaravos began, lips twisting into a crooked smile as he straightened, “...other sorts of preparations you must make before the invasion force departs.”  
Viren made an effort to keep his face neutral. He did not trust that smirk. He could never quite guess if Aaravos was amused at his expense or at someone else’s.

  
“You can already hear and see me,” Aaravos continued, clasping hands behind his back and pacing slowly in front of Viren’s chair like a lecturer. “But you have three other senses that you may need. That I may need you to perceive.”  
Viren listed them in his mind. Smell, Touch, Taste.  
“I doubt I will have need to smell you on the battlefield,” he muttered sceptically.

  
Aaravos snorted softly.  
“Stranger things have happened in war,” the elf said, then turned to Viren’s shelves of components. “Come.”  
“Is it really necessary that we do this today?”

  
“You will find it preferable to tackle one sense at a time rather than spending all that magical energy at once,” the elf explained.  
Viren took another sip of his wine then set the cup down, rising reluctantly from the armchair.

  
“We’ll need this,” Aaravos said, gesturing first to a small jar containing the feathery antennae of silk moths, then to the mortar and pestle. “And that.”  
Under Aaravos’ instruction, Viren assembled a variety of ingredients on his worktable. A small piece of shark skin, the whisker of a banther, dried petals of wisteria and seeds of a corpse lily, hot pepper, sodium bicarbonate, dry potato starch.  
The mage ground the components with the pestle under Aaravos’ attentive gaze, the composition boding ill. He did not need to ask which of his senses they were tackling first.

  
Aaravos dictated incantations to him, one after another, as he crushed and mixed the parts. Viren dutifully repeated the words, feeling unfamiliar magic run through him, down the back of his spine and into his fingertips. The powdery creation changed under his spells, from uneven grey to bright purple, to a dull yellow and finally to a clear, pure white.

  
“There,” Aaravos sighed.  
“What now?”  
“Pour it onto this,” the elf instructed, gesturing to a smooth slab of granite. “Spread the powder out. And you will need a small piece of paper or parchment, something to roll into a thin tube.”  
Viren paused, realization dawning.

  
“You want me to snort this?”  
“It needs to be inhaled, yes.”  
“Oh you’ve got to be-”  
Aaravos eyed him expectantly. He was serious about this.

  
Increasingly irritated, Viren sought out a small metal spattle and a thin, hollow piece of bamboo.  
“I still don’t see how my sense of scent is at all relevant to our undertaking,” Viren griped.  
Aaravos did not respond, but quietly waited until Viren had arranged the powder into two thin lines.

  
The mage thought of how Aaravos had spun his silk threads across his eye, the sensation deeply unsettling and uncomfortable. Considering the ingredients of the powder, his hopes that this would be any less unpleasant were dwindling. He decided not to give the elf the satisfaction of whining about it however, and bent over the slab, readying the tube.

  
With quick motions, not giving himself time to hesitate now that his mind was made up, Viren drew half the powder up in one nostril, then switched the bamboo piece over and inhaled the remaining mixture.

  
He regretted it almost instantly and sank back into the armchair. Viren pressed his eyes shut against the itching and burning in his nose, an urge to sneeze growing stronger.

  
“Hold it in,” Aaravos instructed, watching calmly as Viren struggled against pain and discomfort. Viren coughed and sputtered, trying his damndest to fight the itching and irritation. He made a conscious effort to breathe through his mouth to alleviate the discomfort, but Aaravos reached out a ghostly hand.

  
“No, breathe through your nose,” the elf said, for once without the smirk on his face.  
Viren tried to do as instructed, feeling as though he were inhaling dragonfire rather than mere air, closing his eyes to focus. He grunted and gasped, pain and discomfort growing, spreading, overwhelming, until his head lolled and fell back against the chair’s headrest.


	2. Scent – Three Days Before the Invasion – Part Two

When Viren came to, he tasted a bitter, acidic echo of the powder in the back of his throat. He swallowed and grimaced, wiped at his nose. The back of his hand came away wet. He blinked his lids open and saw that there a smeared drop of blood. He looked up towards the window and saw that it was still light outside. Not more than a few moments had passed while he had been unconscious. 

“Did it work?” he muttered, trying to make sense of what his senses told him. 

“You will have to tell me,” came the deep, purring voice of the elf in his ear. Viren found his ghostly shape leaning against one wall, one foot set against it, his arms crossed casually before him. 

Viren blinked again, rose to the washbasin and cleaned his face with clear water from the pitcher next to it. He exhaled sharply, surprised to find his airways clear and open after the ordeal. 

He took a deep breath, hands on either side of the basin still. 

There was a new scent in the air that had not been there before, he realized. The scent of a night sky. Of the freshest air atop the tallest mountain. Of night-blooming flowers. The mage spun and found Aaravos only a few feet away, watching him with curious interest. The scent grew stronger as he approached. It might have been a rare perfume, unlike anything Viren had ever smelled in his life at court. Or it was just Aaravos himself. The natural scent of a startouch elf. There was something raw and crisp about it, a scent that should not be coming from a person but from an open window on a cloudless night. 

Viren realized he was standing dumbstruck and nodded. “It worked,” he said, quickly looking away in embarrassment at his own fascination.

“Good,” Aaravos made, and Viren was glad he had once again turned his face away from the elf, for he was not able to conceal the unsettled excitement that deep voice conjured in him right now. 

A moment ago, he had mocked the idea that his sense of smell could make any difference, be it in the battles to come or in his perception of Aaravos. He realized quickly that he had underestimated the effect. 

Aaravos was still a prisoner inside the magical mirror, his presence in Viren’s rooms one of magic and manipulation. But the intensity, the certainty with which the mage suddenly knew that the elf was here with him, rather than a mere ghost or illusion, was something new entirely. And Viren was not sure if he should acknowledge that fact with fear or with exhilaration.


	3. Scent – Three Days Before the Invasion – Part Two

Viren slept restlessly that night. He tossed and turned, drifting in and out of consciousness, plagued by one strange dream after another. He was at the Stormspire at the head of his army, but with Harrow and Sarai looking over his shoulders to judge his actions. He was on some battlefield in Xadia, the ground around him littered with corpses, dead soldiers and warhorses bearing the tabards and emblems of all the human kingdoms.

I have led them to ruin, his dream-self knew, his subconscious manifesting the doubts about whether or not what he was doing was really in humanity’s best interest.  
A figure appeared beside him, cloaked and hooded in midnight black. He could not see its face, but followed its guidance away from the battlefield. He followed its intoxicating scent away from the stink of blood and steel and death. The destruction faded away behind him and he found himself in a meadow. But the figure and its night sky cloak were nowhere to be seen.

Viren fell to his knees, felt the despair of having this manifestation of hope and safety snatched away right before his eyes after the horror of the battlefield.

“Where are you?” he called out, filled with painful yearning.

He looked around and saw only trees and grass. He inhaled deeply and knew the figure, his savior, was somewhere just out of reach, for he could sense its presence in the air, the scent of midnight skies and night-blooming flowers.

He breathed in the strange scent like a man almost drowned, found himself groaning in unfulfilled wanting, knowing that the object of his deepest desires was just out of reach, teasing, tantalizing, torturing him with its absence.

Viren woke with a start, eyelids flying open. In an instant, the longing ache of his dream turned to shame, anger and embarrassment at what he saw and felt. His body had responded to the desires in his dream, and he felt his erection rock hard against his own thigh. But that was not all.

Aaravos was lying in his bed, on his side, facing him. The elf opened his eyes at the change in Viren’s breathing. It did not look like he had been sleeping, gaze instantly alert and piercing.

The damned scent of him filled the air, refusing to dissipate with the images of Viren’s dream.

“What are you doing?!” Viren demanded in a growl. He pulled his knees closer, clutching the blanket around himself, making sure his state of arousal was well hidden.

“Why are you in my bed?”

The elf was not really lying in the bed as much as he was floating horizontally on top of it. Aaravos pushed himself up on one elbow in languid slowness. The cursed smirk on his lips.

Could he know, Viren wondered. Could he know what he had dreamt, what he had felt in his dream. The elf was powerful, who knew where his limits truly lay.

“I do not need to sleep,” Aaravos explained. “My body sleeps in my prison, and my mind only needs a bit of rest here and there. I have little to do while you sleep though, since no one else can see or hear me.”

Viren shifted uncomfortably, the tension in his lower body not ebbing, not with the air full of the scent of… him.

“Can’t you… go explore the palace or something?”

Aaravos raised a perfect pale eyebrow.

“I am not a ghost,” he said with that hint of mockery in his voice that assured Viren his suggestion had been utterly foolish. “My presence here is tied to you. I do not exist in this world outside of your perception. For now.”

Those last two words trailed off with the promise of a more powerful presence to come.

Viren laid back against the bed’s headboard, trying to clear his thoughts.

He wanted to be alone, desperately wanted to give himself the release his body craved. But he dared not touch himself with Aaravos so close, so focused on him. He would surely notice, would know. Would probably smirk and watch him, the bastard, with that same mild fascination he showed for so many human things.

“Why are you so irritated?”

Aaravos’ voice had it usual tone of soft inquisitiveness, but never without the hint of amusement to it. Viren threw him a quick glance. He had sat up, drawn up one knee and casually draped an arm over it. The very insouciance with which he posed the question an affront to Viren’s irritation.

“I am not used to sharing my chamber with another man,” Viren snapped.

He regretted his wording immediately and bit the inside of his lip. He had meant to say he was not used to the presence of someone else constantly being around him, the lack of privacy. He did not need to look at Aaravos to know the self-satisfied smile that would be twisting one corner of his mouth right now.

“Ah, well,” the elf sighed. “Perhaps I can help with that soon.”

Viren scoffed and laid back down, turning his back to Aaravos. He did not trust himself to say anything more, most certainly did not want to look him in the eye right now, and yet the knowledge that the elf lay behind him, probably staring holes in the back of his skull, made sleep and relaxation seem very far away.

He wondered if he should pry Aaravos’ caterpillar off himself to force the privacy he craved. Feared, that if he did, Aaravos would somehow turn himself invisible and watch him out of simple curiosity. Viren breathed in the scent of the elf’s body, fainter now that he was no longer facing him, and tried forcing himself to calm.  
The blood was still pounding through him, his body starkly reminding him of the unwelcome desires that his dream and the awakening of another sense had brought.  
Viren dearly hoped he would not end up soiling himself in his sleep like some overexcited schoolboy. He lay awake restlessly for a long time before finally finding sleep again, his body aching with unfulfilled yearning.


	4. Touch – Two Days Before the Invasion – Part One

The following day, Viren found his mind drifting whenever a pause in the discussions of strategy and preparation allowed it. More than once he had to ask one of his advisors and fellow rulers to repeat a thing. He refused to let his gaze drift to wherever Aaravos hovered in the air, certain that the elf would see the nervous insecurity in him.

Aaravos would sometimes come closer, bending over the map table with the other members of the war council, the perfume of his body threatening to distract Viren from whatever he was talking about. So far, he had seen the elf as a powerful ally and tool. Not one worth trusting, of course. And yet he found himself relatively confident in the assumption that whatever Aaravos’ true goals were, they aligned with his own well enough for the moment. So far. But with this plan to magically access all of Viren’s senses, he wondered what purpose Aaravos was truly serving. If he was fully aware of the effect even his mere scent had had on Viren.

The mage knew it had been Aaravos’ voice that had first unsettled him, even after watching the elf in the mirror for a while. Did he really want to take the risk of giving Aaravos more influence over him by allowing him access to his other senses? Viren tried to force his thoughts away from what this evening would bring, what Aaravos would do when he could touch him, for whenever that consideration surfaced, every muscle in his body seemed to contract in apprehension.

“Your Highness?” Viren’s head snapped up, realizing he had once more let his mind drift.

“Yes,” he continued, trying to recall what the focus of the discussion had been. “I agree with Saleer.”

When Viren returned to his own rooms that evening, he did not sit down to relax, but stood before his worktable right away.

“What do we need today?” he asked, tone pragmatical.

“My, my,” Aaravos said, walking up next to him. “Aren’t we eager today?”

Viren clenched his jaw, feeling blood rush to his face. “If this will be anywhere near as unpleasant as yesterday, I’d rather have it over with,” he snapped.

Aaravos did not contradict him, but began to list and point at spell components.

Following the elf’s instructions, Viren assembled a new mixture of stinging nettle oil, cinnamic alcohol, dragontree resin, foxglove blossoms and more, speaking incantations over the ingredients. He ended up with a mass of viscous paste that refused to take on any color beyond the off brown of its ingredients.

“Now only a bit of water for its consistency,” Aaravos said, then watched in frowning concentration as Viren poured and stirred.

“There, that’s enough. It’s ready.”

“And now what?” Viren prompted, confident at least that he would not need to ingest or inhale this particular mixture.

“Remove your robe.”

“What?”

“The mixture goes on your skin. You will need to undress to the waist.”

Viren hesitated, heart pounding in his ears. Aaravos’ lip twitched into that damn crooked smirk.

“Come now,” he purred, “There’s no need to be shy.”

Viren refused to meet the elf’s eyes as he obliged, fastidiously working at the fastenings of his robe. He felt Aaravos’ gaze on him as he peeled his arms out of the cloth.The elf was circling him, watching, appraising. Let him watch, Viren thought defiantly.

His work as mage and advisor had rarely demanded physical fitness, but pale and slender though he was, he had never let himself get entirely out of shape.

“Now,” Aaravos continued, standing very close behind Viren. The mage could feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, and know this did not yet have anything to do with his sense of touch, but with the mere knowledge of Aaravos’ closeness.

“Dip your hands into the bowl and do as I say…”

Quietly obedient, Viren used the liquid mixture to draw runes on his chest, arms and stomach precisely as Aaravos directed. Where he applied it, the brown mixture stuck to his skin, covering it evenly and completely, tingling mildly.

Aaravos dictated an incantation to him and Viren repeated it, the prickle on his skin intensifying. He felt magic surge through him as he spoke, felt the crackle of energy spread from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. The tingling sensation did not remain limited to the parts of him that were covered with the paste, but spread over him through him, making him unsettlingly aware of every part of his body as the magic reached it.

A short bark of laughter escaped him as the sensation tickled him, but his mirth died instantly when the feeling turned from prickling to itching to burning. He looked at Aaravos in concern, but found only the familiar inquisitive observation.

“I never said this would be pleasant,” he said, and Viren could not help suspecting that the elf enjoyed his distress.

He cried out as the stinging intensified, the entire surface of his body somehow feeling icy cold and burning hot at once. Viren’s knees buckled under him and met the stone floor. Tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned, fighting the urge to scratch the paste off, knowing that interrupting the spell now was likely to have a vastly less pleasant result than simply letting it run its course. He tried to focus on breathing evenly through the pain, barely managing to hold onto consciousness this time.


	5. Touch – Two Days Before the Invasion – Part Two

When the pain and crackle of magic finally began to dissipate, Viren was kneeling slumped on the ground, chest heaving.  
He swallowed, blinked his eyes open. Of the runes on his skin, only dried outlines remained, the rest of the paste having been absorbed by his skin or otherwise consumed by the spell. 

He raised his gaze slowly and met that of Aaravos standing over him, watching intently. The elf’s shape had remained as ghostly and transparent as ever.   
Aaravos reached a hand towards him, the expression on his face unusually wary. Viren lifted his own hand very slowly, not sure if he was more worried if the spell had failed, or about what might happen if it hadn’t. 

He closed the distance between their fingers, half expecting to pass right through the ghostly image. 

The first brush of skin against skin was quick, nervous. Viren heard himself gasp, found the shimmering purple outline of the elf’s hand give tangible resistance against his fingers. He looked up, but instead of finding the expected smirk on Aaravos’ face, he saw that the elf was looking at their touching fingers with no less fascination, lips slightly parted in stunned silence. 

Viren marvelled at the sensation. To his eyes, Aaravos had not grown more solid than before. But where his eyes could see the bookshelves through the purple hand, his fingers found purchase. 

Aaravos clasped him firmly and pulled him back up to his feet. Viren watched the play of muscle on the elf’s upper arm as he easily lifted his weight. It was illusion, the mage suspected. Aaravos’ real body lay far away, his transparent image merely mirroring what the real muscle did. 

Viren realized he had not let go of Aaravos’ hand, fascinated as he was. He flushed and pulled back, but the elf was not meeting his eyes. Instead, his other hand reached forward, gentle fingers drawing over Viren’s arm, to his shoulder, over his collarbone. Down his chest. Aaravos let out a deep sigh.

“What are you doing?” Viren muttered. His voice came out sounding uncertain, damn it.

“You cannot imagine how long it has been since I’ve touched another living creature,” Aaravos said. 

He moved around Viren, circling him, softly trailing three long fingers over the mage’s skin.   
Viren stood very still, wary of the pleasure Aaravos appeared to be taking in this. And yet unable to deny how good the elf’s touch felt to him. Viren fought the urge to echo Aaravos’ soft sounds of contentment as exploring hands wandered over his arms, shoulders, back and chest. He was reminded of last night’s unsatisfied wants, and his conscious mind shied away from bringing such desires into any connection with the touch of Aaravos’ hands. 

Viren cleared his throat, forcing himself back to practical matters. 

“How does it work?” he asked. “Can you touch everything now?”

“No,” Aaravos replied. “The spell is centered on you. I can touch what touches you, but the range is very limited. Here.” 

The elf reached down to the clothing that hung around Viren’s waist, lifting the discarded robe where it was held in place by Viren’s belt. He lifted the cloth and slowly moved his hand down the length of a sleeve. After a moment, the garment began to slip through Aaravos’ fingers, passing through his ghostly limbs as intangibly as ever.  
Aaravos took Viren’s hand, guiding him to lift up the sleeve he had dropped. Now that Viren was holding the cloth, the elf’s fingers no longer passed through. 

“I see,” Viren said, willing his breathing to remain calm as he let his hand fall back to his side and Aaravos once again trailed his fingers up Viren’s arm, revelling in the ability to do so. 

“And this will…” Viren began, more to break the tense silence than because he really wanted an answer, “...help our cause in Xadia how exactly?”

Aaravos chuckled, his form on Viren’s left but his voice as always directly in Viren’s ear. 

“So I can better serve you,” the elf said, the deep vibrato of his words so easy to perceive as seductive. Aaravos came to stand behind Viren, his hands on the mage’s shoulders. 

“Your wellbeing is of course integral to the success of our quest.” 

Four-fingered hands began to explore to muscles on Viren’s back. The question had obviously failed in its purpose as a distraction from… whatever this was.   
“You are very tense,” the elf observed innocently as he continued his massage. “Is that a result of the pressure on you, or a quirk of human anatomy that I’m not familiar with?”

Viren knew he had to put a stop to this, whatever Aaravos was trying to do. Knew, but could not bring himself to do it, not when the delicious press and release of skilled hands kneaded the resistance right out of him. 

“No it’s… I am… tense, I suppose,” he managed, a moment too late. 

“Hmmm,” Aaravos made, taking entirely too much pleasure in Viren’s lapse of self-control.

The mage let out a moan as the elf’s fingers dug into a sensitive spot between his shoulder blades. He breathed in the still unfamiliar scent of Aaravos’ closeness, saw him lean in very close to Viren’s ear.

“You need this badly, don’t you,” he said softly. 

It was too much. The intoxicating perfume of his nearness, the skilled caress of his hands, the teasing whispers.

“Enough,” Viren snapped, tearing himself away. 

“Have I done anything to offend?”

The look on Aaravos’s face was one of confused innocence that Viren did not buy for a second. The elf was ancient, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Of course you-” Viren cut himself off, uncertain if there had been a brief flash of genuine contrition there in the elf’s expression. He rubbed a bit of the dried paste off his arm where it still outlined the runes he had drawn. 

“I will go bathe,” he explained curtly, irate with himself for his reaction to… to everything. He picked up an empty jar from his worktable and dropped the caterpillar that anchored Aaravos’ in this world into it. “And you will leave me alone.”


	6. Touch – Two Days Before the Invasion – Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised it gets dirty, we're finally starting to get there

Aaravos stayed mercifully absent as Viren disrobed and stepped into the hot bath his servants had prepared for him. He refused to feel guilty for the abrupt end he had put to the elf’s touch. Aaravos had promised to serve him, to help him get what he wanted most, had promised knowledge and power, not back rubs. 

Viren let his head sink into hot water. Perhaps Aaravos was trying to trick him, attempting to seduce him into voicing some other, more easily fulfilled desire, rather than helping him conquer Xadia and see humanity prosper? He hoped that was not it, but he could not trust that the elf did anything for any not selfish reason. His subservience was an act, of that Viren was sure, merely a way to get what Aaravos himself wanted. As long as their goals were aligned, Viren did not care.  
But what the elf’s goals were with this, with these gentle caresses, the mage could not guess. 

As he soaked in the steaming water, scrubbing what remained of the spell’s ingredients off his skin, Viren found his hand wandering downwards, wondered if pleasuring himself might bring the release he obviously needed. He soon tore his hand away again in frustration, for whatever images of past lovers and pretty maidens he tried to conjure in his mind, the thought of Aaravos’ touch kept distracting him, insisted on surfacing again and again. 

He cursed under his breath and soon rose to rinse himself. 

Viren returned to his bedchamber wrapped tightly in a bath robe and with a towel in hand. A servant had lit the candle on his nightstand in the meantime, bathing the room in soft orange light. Viren watched the caterpillar in its jar for a moment, wondering if he should simply leave the cursed thing there for the night.  
But no, that would be foolish. If anything happened, if any unexpected news reached him, if any of his detractors tried to strike against him, he would need the elf’s insight and power. 

He could not risk failure simply because he wished for some peace and quiet from his ghostly advisor. Reluctantly, Viren uncovered the jar and let the insect climb back up his arm, settling on his ear as always. 

“I hope you’ve been able to relax…” said the familiar voice. 

“Hm,” Viren made noncommittally. The elf had his hands clasped behind his back, head bowed as if offering subservience. 

“I suppose some tension is to be expected, considering I am planning an invasion,” Viren said, and sat down on the edge of his bed, rubbing at his wet hair with the towel. 

“I suppose,” Aaravos said, slowly moving closer. 

Viren swallowed, pretending he did not notice the elf’s approach. Damn him, he thought, damn the cursed elf and the sound of his voice, the scent of his skin that was threatening to overwhelm Viren once more. Damn the way the touch of his hands had felt so wretchedly good against Viren’s skin before. Damn how close he was coming, how easy it would be to reach out and feel his touch once more. 

The bed did not bend or creak as Aaravos came to kneel behind him. Translucent purple hands reached around Viren’s waist. He was frozen in place, watching dextrous fingers slip between the cloth of his robe. 

“What are you doing?” Viren managed to ask, voice wavering with uncertainty. 

“Helping you relax,” Aaravos whispered, his face for once just as close as his voice always was. 

Tell him to stop, Viren told himself, command him to leave. 

He could not. He was already lost. Already all too eager to feel the elf’s fingers push the robe off over his shoulders so it came to lay about his waist. 

“Hmm,” Aaravos sighed, hands wandering over Viren’s bared skin, his chest, his arms. 

Viren closed his eyes, willing himself to resist, hating himself for leaning into the elf’s tender caress. Hearing the desperate need in that cursed, beloved, purring voice. 

“You have no idea,” Aaravos breathed, “how long I’ve waited… to feel…”

The elf’s lips met Viren’s neck, brushing softly, almost chastely over the freshly bathed skin. 

A moan escaped him as Aaravos’ fingers trailed down the center of his chest and stomach, nails gently scraping.

Unresisting, unquestioning despite the faint echo of reason in the back of his head, Viren let Aaravos pull him back deeper onto the bed, the elf’s back up against the headrest and Viren in front of him. Four-fingered hands trailed over the muscles of the mage’s chest and stomach, rising up his throat, his jaw to gently point his chin to one side. 

“You may not have been trapped for centuries,” Aaravos mouthed, “but you’ve denied yourself these carnal delights nonetheless, haven’t you?”

Viren breathed in sharply as the elf’s hand came down on his thigh, gently pulling one leg aside. He was right, of course. For years, Viren had prioritized his work, his ambitions, over whatever desires his body had felt. Had provided himself the occasional release by his own hand or any woman’s paid services. But even that lay… too far back, so absorbed had he been by more pressing concerns. 

Aaravos untied the belt that held the bath robe in place, baring Viren’s visible arousal. 

Viren let his head fall back against the elf’s shoulder, the realization that he could no longer deny himself this pleasure settling over him. Some distant part of Viren cursed himself for a fool. If he had simply given into his body’s needs the night before, or earlier in the bath, he might have been able to turn these deliciously unwelcome advances away. Or so he told himself. 

Aaravos let his hand wander down Viren’s stomach, let his fingers drift over the side of his thigh, a soft sound of amusement escaping him as Viren’s body responded to the tantalizing caress. 

Ghostly purple fingers drew closer, came to lay around Viren’s cock, eliciting a gasp. 

Viren felt the elf’s lips against his neck, the left hand stroking his side, right hand firmly grasping his shaft. He heard Aaravos sigh behind him as his fingers moved, his caress tortuously gentle. 

A moan of desperate need escaped Viren’s lips while a finger trailed along his erect length, teasing, tempting, taunting. Aaravos chuckled, took pleasure in this exquisite torment.

Viren did not know if it was the sadistic amusement that made him lose his patience, or the soft caress of the skin right beneath the head of his cock. But with aching urgency, Viren placed his hand over Aaravos’, anguished sounds of need coming form his lips, and pressed the elf’s ghostly fingers closer around him, demanding what Aaravos was only teasing to offer. 

“Aah,” the elf made, disgustingly satisfied at this show of desire on Viren’s part, but the mage could not bring himself to care for injured dignity right now. Viren’s hand fell away again as Aaravos began to stroke him in earnest, the firm grip of his elven hand moving up and down along Viren’s length, banishing all thought, all doubt of what this would mean for them, for the magic that bound them, leaving only raw hunger. 

Viren whimpered under Aaravos’ expert touch, the sensation threatening to overwhelm so soon, his aching need already in danger of reaching its peak. He tried to pull away, tried to prolong, to hold back, but Aaravos caught his left hand in his own, not letting him intervene. Viren’s moans grew louder, more urgent, his body but clay in the elf’s molding hands. His breath came in shallow gasps, muscles contracting in his stomach, his pelvis, as Aaravos mercilessly quickened his rhythm. 

Viren cried out and shuddered, climax coming over him with violent intensity, erupting all over his own chest and stomach, painting his own skin in sticky warmth. 

He lay there, panting and wheezing, falling back against Aaravos in tired depletion. He heard a quiet sigh of contentment from the elf, right next to his ear as always. Caught in drained languor, it took Viren a moment to realize that Aaravos was moving a fingertip over his inner thigh and crotch, and up his stomach, drawing a line through the product of Viren’s pleasure, then rising to his face. 

“I thought taste-” Viren murmured. 

“Hush,” Aaravos said, parting his eager lips. “You may not be able to taste me, but you can taste yourself.” 

Viren’s tongue flicked against Aaravos’ fingers, tasting the salt of his own spendings and taking an alarming amount of pleasure in imagining what tomorrow might bring.


	7. Taste – One Day Before the Invasion – Part One

The following morning, Viren woke to an insistent knock on the locked door of his suite. He rose to a seat, the bathrobe still tangled around his legs.

  
“King Viren?” followed a call. He recognized the voice of one of his servants.“What is it?”  
“You are… the council is waiting for you, your Highness.”  
Viren cursed under his breath.  
“Your Highness?”  
“Yes,” Viren said louder, “I will be there right away.”

  
He hurried out of bed, swiftly wiping at himself with a washcloth before pulling on clothing. In the bright sunlight that flooded the chambers, he caught a mere shimmer of purple translucence. He was glad Aaravos kept his distance, not sure if he could have born a conversation with his elf companion right now.

In the throne room, nobody dared to call him out for having overslept on this last, crucial day of their planning, and yet Viren could clearly feel the air of contempt at his lateness from Prince Kasef and some of the others. He affected a mask of confidence and continued their strategizing where they had left off the day before.  
He had hoped the day’s meeting would be a short one, considering that this was the day before their march began and much of what they had needed to plan – routes, food supply trains, transport of siege engines – had already been discussed in the past days. Alas, that hope was short-lived, and it seemed that whenever a matter was settled, one of his advisors would raise some other matter to discuss, too important for Viren to simply let the council find a solution it without him.

  
Mercifully, Aaravos kept his distance, only offering a piece of advice here or there, and otherwise entertaining himself by strolling unseen among the gathered councillors, observing nonchalantly.

  
Even as he tried to keep his thoughts from wandering back to what had happened the night before, Viren found a decision forming at the back of his mind. He dreaded returning to his chambers to be alone with Aaravos once more and yet could hardly wait for the days’ other tasks to be over.

  
When he finally walked back to his rooms late that afternoon, Aaravos’ silent presence at his side had grown almost unbearable, the knowledge that the ghostly figure was tangible now demanding vastly more of Viren’s attention than he was willing to give.

When Viren slammed the door to his suite closed behind himself, Aaravos turned towards him at the sound and raised an eyebrow. Viren spoke before giving the elf a chance to question his mood.

  
“This ends now,” he said in cold precision. “What you did last night… is not the sort of service I require of you.”

  
He had been desperate, starved for satisfaction, and he had not been thinking straight. He would not make that mistake again, Viren told himself. He had perhaps needed the release, between the worries about the invasion and every other burdon on his shoulders, but now his mind was clear once more.

  
“As you wish,” Aaravos yielded, bowing his head in a gesture of submission that felt false.

  
“You will keep your distance unless I tell you otherwise,” Viren instructed.

  
The elf acquiesced without protest, and yet when he raised his gaze to Viren’s once more, he thought he saw something new in it. A fleeting anguish, gone as soon as it had appeared.

  
You cannot imagine how long it has been since I’ve touched another living creature, echoed Aaravos’ voice in his head. The memory stung, as did the realization it brought that he was not only denying himself.

  
Viren refused to feel sympathy. For all he knew, the elf was still manipulating him for his own gain.

  
“Tell me what do do,” Viren said, forcing his tone to the pragmatic, standing in front of his work desk. “Let’s get this last ritual over with.”


	8. Taste – One Day Before the Invasion – Part Two

Aaravos directed him to mix five separate vials this time, some with vastly less horrifying ingredients than the concoctions of the nights before. As commanded, the elf held his distance, though Viren got the feeling he was merely biding his time before Viren would give in once more. 

“That is all,” Aaravos concluded once Viren had repeated the last incantation over the fifth vial. It gave off a pungent odor, dried pigs’ blood and fermented garum among its ingredients. Viren was not looking forward to what would no doubt come next. 

“Start with this one,” the elf said, pointing to the leftmost vial. “Swallow it all, do not spill a drop.” 

Viren forced his thoughts away from what Aaravos murmured instruction threatened to wake within him once again, and picked up the vial. He tilted it against his lips and grimaced as soon as cloying sweetness touched his tongue. 

“All at once,” Aaravos commanded, and Viren resisted the urge to lower the vial before it was empty. One by one, Viren picked up the other vials. The next one was bitingly acidic. The one after that so dry and salty that he was almost eager to pick up the next. That one was bitter, biting, leaving a sting on his tongue. He made a face in disgust, his stomach threatening rebellion. 

“Don’t stop now,” Aaravos said, and Viren let out a heavy breath before picking up the fifth and final vial. His eyes briefly met those of the elf, before he poured the contents between his lips. 

Viren heaved almost immediately, the cloying, tangy richness of the mixture nauseating. He fought to keep his lips shut, eyes stinging with tears, tried and failed to swallow, sure that he would vomit and have to start the whole process over again. 

Cool, translucent fingers were laid over his mouth. Aaravos held his head, tilted him slightly backwards, his thumb and forefinger closing Viren’s nose, giving him no choice but to force the appalling concoction down his throat. 

He gagged and convulsed, the effects of the magic wreaking havoc in his mouth, the various pungent tastes chasing each other across his tongue and down his throat. He realized he had begun to clutch at the hand that held his mouth shut, his efforts in vain against the Aaravos’ strength, even ghostly as he still was. 

At long last, when Viren once again grew dizzy with the effects of the spell, Aaravos lifted his fingers off his lips and pointed a cup of water on the table. Viren gulped it down like a man dying of thirst, filled the cup again and again in an attempt to wash down the sickening combination of flavours, spilled water down the front of his tunic.

When he finally caught his breath, he was leaning over the table, the large water pitcher empty before him. 

A slender finger lifted his chin, turned his face. Aaravos wiped a droplet of water from beneath his mouth and onto his lips, the thumb brushing softly over them. Viren’s lips parted at the tender touch, even as he knew every concession he made would lead him further astray from his virtuous intentions. 

His tongue flicked over the elf’s fingertip, tasting the tiny droplet of water and…  _ him _ . Viren felt his knees threatening to give way, but managed to stay upright.  _ No _ , he thought, even as his mouth opened a bit wider and Aaravos drew his thumb over wet, eager lips.  _ No, I don’t… I can’t…  _

“No, please,” Viren managed, with Aaravos’s face so very close to his, the scent of dark skies and night-blooming jasmine prominent in the air around him.

“No?” Aaravos echoed, and pulled back, hand falling away from Viren’s face. 

A yearning ache shot through Viren’s entire body as he realized he had not expected the elf to heed his protest. 

“I... “ Viren stammered, all of him aflame with need and repulsion all at once, his thoughts warring over what he knew he should do and what he  _ wanted _ , wanted more than he could recall wanting anything for a very long time. “I don’t… I want to…” 

“I know what you  _ desire _ , Viren,” said Aaravos. The sound of his own name in that horrible, wonderful, rasping voice sent a shiver of anticipation through the mage’s body, a rush of blood. 

“Even if you are still denying yourself what you crave.” 

The elf took his face in one long-fingered hand, possessively grasping Viren’s jaw, and finally pressing their parted lips together. 

Viren sighed, groaned, found himself in danger of losing all control. He could taste him, could taste stardust and crisp night air on the elf’s tongue as he relished the kiss. 

He could not resist, Viren knew. He could not walk away from this, his mind firmly under the yoke of his treacherous body and its irreverent desires. 

When an insistent whisper in his ear commanded him to kneel, Viren obeyed in silent capitulation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting there folks


	9. Taste – One Day Before the Invasion – Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a while because I basically chickened out of actually posting this filth but screw it here you go please don't judge me I warned you

Viren raised his hand to the front of Aaravos’ trousers, no further instruction needed. Just as Aaravos had shown him with his own robe the day before, he realized he could touch the clothing on the elf’s body. He began to loosen the laces, fumbled in his haste. Viren half expected mockery at his eagerness, half-expected Aaravos to deny him, now that he was being forward in his desire. He didn’t. 

A sigh came from above as Viren ran his hand over the bulge quickly forming under the garments, his grasp firm and assertive now. There was still a part of him that insisted now was the time to stop, now he could still get up and walk away, consign the elf to be his advisor and nothing more. 

An aching, yearning hunger burned that thought away, leaving room only for lust, for the need to touch, take, taste. 

Viren freed Aaravos’ hard cock from his trousers and took the head in his mouth, one hand cupping balls and the other steadying himself against the elf’s hips, too eager to tease and caress. 

Aaravos moaned while Viren’s tongue slid along his length, the taste of his skin pure and luscious. 

Saliva wet Viren’s chin as he sucked and licked, the urgency of his need leaving no time for concerns of dignity or shame. Viren let out a deep, elated groan as the first drops of moisture met his tongue, the taste of Aaravos’ anticipation sweeter in that moment than any delicacy he could imagine. 

Viren reached, slid the elf’s cock down his throat to the hilt until he had to come up gasping for air, then went back for more. His own arousal was straining in the confinement of his clothes, aching for release. 

Even as he knelt and pleasured, he was thrilled by the certainty that Aaravos was all his, that he gave him what no one else had given in a very long time, what no one else  _ could _ give. He cupped Aaravos’ balls, took one of them in his mouth and let his tongue wander, utterly lost in the need to please, to  _ satisfy _ . 

Aaravos gasped when the mage returned his attentions to the tip of his rigid cock, tongue exploring the skin where head met shaft, then the slit at the top, every touch urgent and hungry. 

Viren felt the elf’s fingers tangle in his short hair, felt his head pulled close. Whatever illusion of control he had a moment ago vanished as Aaravos took a firm hold on his head. 

He gagged and spat as Aaravos buried himself in his throat, strands of spittle hanging from his lips to the glistening tip of the elf’s cock whenever he let him come up to gasp for air. Viren was far too consumed by desire to feel any indignation at being used in such a fashion, the elf’s audacity only fuelling him more. 

Viren did not let up as Aaravos’ breaths became shallower, moans escaping his lips in quick succession. The elf’s fingers twisted in Viren’s dark hair, pulling him onto his cock as he came with a shudder, spending himself on the mage’s tongue. He gave a loud moan as he thrust his hips forward, the noise resolving into a low laugh. 

Viren let his mouth fall open, enraptured by the taste of the elf’s pleasure that filled his mouth, his breath heavy, his throat sore as he swallowed. He let Aaravos pull him to his feet. 

The elf’s thumb wiped at Viren’s chin for the second time that evening, only instead of water he pushed a spilled drop of his own spendings in between the eager lips. It was Viren this time who brought them together, grasped Aaravos by the front of his tunic and pulled him into a savage kiss, sharing the taste of the elf’s bliss between them, the sweet, salty taste of it mixing with the flavour of Aaravos’ tongue. 

Viren gasped against the elf’s mouth when a hand came down to meet his rigid cock. 

“See, I told you that you could put all of your senses to good use.”

Aaravos’ voice was deep and soft and impossibly sensual, all post-orgasmic languor, as he trailed his lips over Viren’s cheek and then down his neck, one hand opening the laces of his robe. 

“Was this what you had in mind from the start?” Viren asked, unable to hide his irritation at the thought. The elf gave a soft chuckle. 

“Are you asking me whether I tied myself to you and lent you my powers simply to  _ fuck _ you?”

His voice was thick with amusement. “No, my dear king, this is simply an extra benefit of being your servant.” 

Aaravos met his gaze as he pushed open the front of Viren’s robe, the sly smirk back on his lips. Viren felt his stomach sink as new doubts rose in him about what he was doing here. For all of Aaravos’ talk that he served Viren, the elf’s immense power and the knowledge he refused to share were reason enough to doubt such assurances. 

The overt submissiveness of his words did not hide the mockery in them, which Viren found he had very little patience for right now. He raised a hand to Aaravos’ head and grasped a handful of his long, pale hair, pulling roughly. 

“Then  _ serve _ me,” Viren commanded. 

Aaravos grinned, the ungentle treatment obviously not discouraging him. Viren let him bend to trail kisses down his throat and chest, pushing the robe down over his shoulders, pushing him backwards in the direction of the bed. 

The elf shoved him down onto the mattress and pulled at Viren’s robe and tunic, the cloth falling through ghostly fingers as soon as it left his body. Viren pushed the clothes aside and kicked off his boots, scooted backwards onto the bed. 

Aaravos leaned over him, hair falling down over his shoulders like a curtain around them, and brought their mouths together, then let his lips wander downwards. Aaravos pushed his hair to one side and looked up at Viren under thick lashed as he kissed, nibbled, licked at the mage’s chest and stomach, suckled on a nipple. 

Viren lay perched on his elbows, watching, forcing himself to look calmer than he felt, exhilaration and arousal surging within him. He watched Aaravos four-fingered hands caress him, sliding down his side and over his hips. Watched his horns move as his head dipped and rose. Wondered when these Elven characteristics had turned from strange and repulsive to exotically alluring. 

Everything about Aaravos was magic, and Viren desired magic, wanted to have it, use it, possess it. 

“Do I please you?” the elf breathed, affecting subservience once again, aware of Viren’s gaze on him. 

“You’re a fair sight, Aaravos,” Viren admitted. “But I was just considering how much lovelier you would look with my cock down your throat.” 

Aaravos raised an eyebrow at the forwardness, but his expression was intrigued rather than affronted. His hands moved to finally free Viren’s throbbing cock from the constraints of his trousers. 

“As you wish, your Highness,” he purred, and took him between his lips. 

Viren moaned at the sensation of wet bliss. It had been half a lifetime since anyone had pleasured him in such a fashion. His eyes had fallen shut as he focused on the feel of the elf’s lips sliding over the head of his cock, his tongue toying with the tip. He forced his lids open to see what he had wanted to see, Aaravos’ dark purple lips stretched around him, the thick white hair falling all around his hips. 

Their eyes met and Viren felt his mouth stretch into a savage grin, the sight of the elf’s succour more potent than his wildest fantasy. 

Viren reached a hand forward on a sudden whim, and grabbed Aaravos by one of the curved horns that protruded from his head. He watched the elf carefully for a reaction, and thought he saw a hint of something darker in his eyes for the briefest moment. 

It thrilled him, this possibility that if he became too demanding, the elf would lash out at him. That was not wise to provoke, Viren knew somewhere in the back of his mind, but the delicious danger of it was too exhilarating for caution. 

Viren pulled Aaravos onto him, shoved himself deep into the elf’s mouth. He panted, tightened his grip on the elf’s horn, demanded more. Aaravos’ hand wandered up the side of his body, pushing down on Viren’s chest, and he let it happen, coming to lie flat on his back, hand twisting into the elf’s hair. 

He moaned, breath growing shallow as he neared the peak of his pleasure. He closed his eyes, dug his fingers into the bedsheet, letting go of Aaravos’ head, gasped, tensed, closer and closer to…

Viren gave a cry of frustrated despair when Aaravos pulled away from him just as he was ready to burst. 

“What are you doing?” he groaned, embarrassed at the audible dismay in his voice. “I was…” he broke off as his gaze met the elf’s, the smirk on his lips all the evidence he needed that Aaravos had chosen the moment of his withdrawal entirely on purpose. 

“I have a better idea,” Aaravos said, his tone disgustingly indifferent to Viren’s spurned pleasure. 

“You said you would serve me,” Viren growled, pushing himself up on his elbows, his cock throbbing almost painfully. 

“I did,” Aaravos chimed, “And I do.” 

He bent over the mage’s body, a white curtain of hair falling to one side, cruelly drawing a fingertip along Viren’s shaft. 

“But I believe this isn’t what you really want.”

“I… what-” Viren sputtered in indignation, his anger and frustration tinged now with a fear of worse to come. 

“For all your posturing,” Aaravos purred, that damned finger trailing over a hipbone, down his groin, horribly teasing, “For all your struggle for power…”

“You can theorize on my motivations all you like, after you-”

“Uh uh,” Aaravos interrupted him with a shake of his head. “I’m talking about your desires, my dear king.”

Viren clenched his teeth, cock going limp in spoiled pleasure, the promise of satisfaction slipping further and further away from him, replaced by fury.  _ Damn him _ , damn the elf and his games and damn Viren himself for thinking he could trust him to reciprocate in this.

His chest heaved, no longer in imminent ecstasy, but in fiery anger. He should simply  _ take _ what Aaravos was apparently unwilling to offer. He should grab the elf by his horns, his hair and force himself into his mouth until he begged for mercy, choking on Viren’s cock. 

“You tell yourself you want to dominate,” Aaravos continued, as if he could read Viren’s thoughts. “That what you lust for in a locked bedchamber is the same as what you strive for in your throne room.” 

A thumb and forefinger came up to hold Viren’s chin, painfully tugging at the hair of his short beard. 

“But you forget that I am bound to you, by blood and magic,” the elf continued, his face very close to Viren’s, the scent of him filling Viren’s nostrils. “I know that there are deeper desires that you refuse to admit to yourself. A hunger to give up the control you so desperately seek in every other part of your life.” 

Viren felt his lip tremble in furious irritation and struggled not to give his adversary the gratification of showing emotion. He felt pierced by the elf’s gaze, felt like those ghostly eyes were looking right past every carefully constructed image of himself and into his soul. 

“You’re afraid to give up that control,” Aaravos murmured, and his hand came around Viren’s wrist, pushing his arm down over his head, “embarrassed and ashamed of what you really crave. But I can give that to you, Viren. I can serve you in the ways you secretly long for.”

Aaravos held Viren down with an iron grip, his other hand rising to Viren’s chest to take a nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting painfully. 

Viren sucked in a sharp breath, willing himself to object. Willing the elf’s words to not ring as true as they did. 

“Let me take control,” Aaravos said, trailing his lips over Viren’s throat, his collarbone. “Let me use you as you wish to be used.” 

Viren shook his head, lids pressed shut as if he could keep out the reality of Aaravos’ words, as if he could quench the fire that stirred deep within at this deliciously depraved threat. 

“Look at me,” Aaravos commanded, holding Viren’s face in his hand. Viren obeyed. 

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me and I will stop.”

Their eyes were locked. Inside of Viren, a silent battle raged between what he wanted to be and what he was, between his need to be respected and powerful and this secret, inner yearning to be exactly what Aaravos threatened to make of him. He felt a strange twinge of relief that Aaravos had not asked him what it was he wanted, because he was sure he could not put such things into words.

He said nothing. 

Aaravos smiled his crooked smile. 

“Do you surrender yourself to me?”

Viren’s teeth clenched, the shame of such a surrender unbearable and yet irresistible. 

“Yes,” he said, his voice small to his own ears. 

The elf grinned in triumph and showed Viren the magic crackling at his fingertips. 

“I promise you my king,” he rumbled. “When I’m done with you, you will be past any sense of shame.” 


	10. The Night before the Invasion

Aaravos drew a rune in the air and whispered an incantation. From his hand emerged two long ribbons of energy that found Viren’s hands. The mage breathed in sharply as the magic pulled his arms upwards, binding his wrists firmly above his head, tying him down on the bed. 

Fear rose within him, fear of what exactly he had surrendered himself to, of what Aaravos would awaken in him. He swallowed the concern and met the elf’s gaze.

Aaravos drew another rune and sent it flying towards the door. 

“There,” he breathed. “Now nobody in the palace will be able to hear you.”

He bent closer to his victim. 

“Because I do intend to make you scream.” 

Viren stared up in defiance, teeth gritted. Aaravos smiled and took his face with a firm grasp.

“Oh your resistance will make this so much more delicious,” he said in a voice grown melodic with delighted anticipation. 

The elf straddled him. A hand rose to Viren’s chest, two nails scratching slowly down his middle. 

“Tell me Viren,” Aaravos said with an air of nonchalance as his fingers took hold of his nipple, “do you enjoy pain?” 

Viren clenched his jaw as his tormentor pulled and twisted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Aaravos chuckled softly. 

“I think you pride yourself in your ability to withstand it,” the elf mused, “just as you pride yourself on destroying your body with dark magic.”

Viren still refused to respond. 

Aaravos whispered a spell and Viren saw a glowing light form at his fingertip. He squirmed as the elf began to lower the hand to his captive’s chest. 

“What is that?” 

“Just a bit of starfire,” Aaravos said. Viren felt its heat as Aaravos held the magic just above his skin. “Don’t worry, it won’t leave any mark.”

The glow touched Viren’s chest and he cried out, straining against his bonds, certain despite Aaravos’ promise that the starfire was burning him, setting him aflame. 

The elf withdrew and Viren panted, seeing his skin unharmed. Aaravos grinned, and did not give his victim the time to catch himself before lowering the glowing white light once more. 

Viren screamed, his defiant intentions forgotten in the pain. Aaravos drew the fire slowly across his chest, back and forth, revelling in the torture. He withdrew, placing a tender kiss on the mistreated skin. Viren looked down at himself, out of breath, half expecting to find blisters or blood, but seeing himself entirely unblemished instead. 

“Have you had enough?” Aaravos purred. “Do you want me to stop?”

Viren refused to nod. He hissed through clenched teeth as the starfire touched him again, moving closer to his left nipple. 

“I will stop if you ask nicely.”

Viren remained silent. 

Aaravos touched his nipple with the magic, and Viren howled in agony. He twisted his body in an instinctive attempt to get away from it, but Aaravos grabbed his shoulder with his free hand and forced him back down. 

When the elf let up, Viren felt tears in his eyes, his disturbingly unharmed chest heaving with every breath. 

“Please,” he managed. “No more.” 

“Aaah,” Aaravos breathed with a gratified smile, eyes closed as if he were listening to the sweetest tune. He looked disgustingly beautiful. “There we go. A limit to your depravity.” 

Aaravos blew out the starfire on his fingertip and bent to place kisses on Viren’s abused upper body, their delicious tenderness infuriatingly welcome. 

He moved up to Viren’s face, brushing his lips over the mage’s cheek, then taking his mouth into a possessive kiss, his tongue firm against Viren’s. 

“Are you ready to beg for my cock, Viren?” 

Viren pressed his lids shut as if he could shut out his wicked desires along with the sight of Aaravos. It was no use. Not now that he could still feel the elf straddling him, have the scent of him fill the air around him, the taste of him lingering on his tongue. He was lost. He nodded. 

“Ask me to use you,” Aaravos dictated. 

Viren hesitated, a part of him still resilient, still telling him that this surrender was shameful, that he was a king and powerful mage, that he should not be submitting to anyone, least of all an elf, let alone an elf who took this amount of joy in degrading him. 

“Or will you need some more convincing?” Aaravos teased, and tapped Viren’s nipple with his fingertip. There was no starfire on it now, no pain, and yet Viren flinched, the threat all too clear. 

“N- no,” he stammered, meeting Aaravos’ gaze, swallowing, abandoning what remained of his dignity. “Use me. Please.”

Aaravos smiled. With a wave of his hand, his clothing vanished, leaving Viren to gaze upon the beauty of the elf’s body, still ghostly in its appearance. The sight of him, the well shaped muscles, the star-studded skin, sent a current of need through Viren’s body, his cock hardening once more. Aaravos’ own member stood erect, tip glistening with moisture. Viren’s wanton lips parted, eager for use. 

The elf grinned, taking in the visible need of the man beneath him. He moved up to Viren’s face, holding himself ready. 

Viren moved his head, tried to take him in his mouth, but Aaravos pulled just out of reach, leaving him wanting. 

“Beg,” he purred, the relish in his low voice unmistakable. 

“Please,” Viren muttered, “please let me…” 

“Let you what?”

“Please let me taste you.”

Aaravos gave a contented sigh as he thrust forward. Viren strained in his bonds to take the head of him between his lips, to let his tongue slide over the tip. His shoulders and neck ached with the uncomfortable effort. 

After a while, Viren groaned and fell back, torn between his discomfort and his craving to please. 

“What a good pet you are,” Aaravos praised, “hurting yourself to please me.” 

He grasped a handful of Viren’s hair, pushed him down into the bedding, and forcefully shoved himself into Viren’s mouth. The mage would have thanked him for it had he been able to speak.

Aaravos fucked his face mercilessly, making Viren choke and gag, only ever withdrawing for short moments to let him gasp for air, threads of spit hanging from the elf’s rigid cock. 

“Do you want me to come all over you, my king?” Aaravos teased as his motion grew faster, his own breath growing shallower. 

Viren nodded, lips stretched around the elf’s girth. Aaravos moaned in satisfaction, thrusting once, twice, thrice, before pulling back and spending himself, hot fluid spilling over Viren’s chest, throat, mouth. The mage licked his lips, moaning at the taste of his tormentor’s pleasure, enraptured by the knowledge that he had been the cause of it. 

Aaravos held his balls and shaft in front of Viren’s face, for him to eagerly lick what had spilled over the elf’s own skin. 

“Say thank you,” the elf instructed, and Viren obeyed. Aaravos drew a finger through the mess on Viren’s body and let him lap it off his finger, and Viren thanked him for that too. 

Aaravos moved off him. The magical ties that bound Viren came loose and he rolled his aching shoulders, glad and dismayed at once that it was over. 

As if he could see the thought in his face, Aaravos made a sound of amusement. 

“You don’t think we’re done, do you?”

Viren looked up at him, and found a vicious smirk on the elf’s face. Firm hands pushed him over onto his stomach, then onto his knees. Viren gasped, fear and eagerness for what might come next warring within him. New ribbons of magical energy drew his hands away from him, binding his underarms together behind his back, his face pressed into the bedsheets. What remained of Aaravos’s semen on his skin began to run down towards his throat and moistened the bedding beneath him. A hand wandered over his exposed backside, caressing the flesh of his buttock. 

“I’ve been imprisoned for so long, Viren,” Aaravos said with mock concern, “who knows how much it will take to satiate me.” 

He placed a kiss on Viren’s lower back. 

“But fortunately, you are mine now, to be used as long as I like, isn’t that so?”

Viren nodded, cheek pressed against the mattress. 

“Say it.”

“I am yours,” he heard himself say, appallingly pleased by the truth of it. “To be used however you please.”

“Hmmm,” Aaravos made, Viren’s submission as music to his ears. He let Viren suck on his fingers for a moment, then pressed the wet digits against his captive’s rear.

Viren felt his cock twitch in eager anticipation, moisture gathering at its tip. 

He moaned as a fingertip pushed inside of him, opening him up, possessing him. 

Aaravos let out a pleased sigh as he worked his finger deeper. Viren gasped, the unfamiliar sensation dauntingly exhilarating. The finger withdrew and Viren felt lips and tongue instead, moistening, teasing, preparing. Then two fingers stretched him, coaxing him to relax. 

“Oh I think you need this very badly,” Aaravos said behind him, obviously pleased at how easily Viren’s body accommodate his digits. Viren found himself nodding, driven beyond reason, beyond shame or doubt, by insatiable desire. 

Aaravos pulled his fingers away and moved up to his face once more, letting Viren suck on the head of his already stiff cock, wetting it with his spit. He caressed the side of Viren’s face and their eyes met as he withdrew. 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” the elf said, knowing that no hesitation or better judgement would hold Viren’s tongue anymore. 

“Fuck me,” Viren breathed, urgent hunger straining his voice. “Fuck me, please. Take me.”

Aaravos moved behind him and slid his wet cock down the crack of Viren’s exposed arse to its opening.

“Please,” Viren said again, overwhelmed by need. 

Aaravos began to push into him, stretching him open, taking possession of Viren’s very being. 

Viren gasped and groaned, engulfed by the delicious pain and pleasure of this invasion of his body. 

The elf’s cock filled him, pushing deeper until he felt Aaravos’ hips press against his skin. 

“Are you mine, Viren?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I am yours.”

Aaravos held onto his bound wrists as he began to thrust, eliciting desperate yelps with every shove. Viren heard the elf groan and sigh as his pace increased, the noises of his pleasure driving him towards to the climax that he had been denied before. Aaravos pulled back, then sheathed himself to the hilt again, and Viren cried out, again and again, while the elf drilled mercilessly into him. 

“Will you come for me, Viren?” Aaravos asked, withdrawing once more just as Viren was nearing a culmination. The mage made a noise of wretched affirmation, teetering on the edge of orgasm. 

“Beg,” the elf whispered, and Viren obliged. 

“Please let me come,” he pleaded. “Please don’t stop now, please, I beg you. Fuck me.”

Aaravos laughed with sadistic delight at the desperation in his victim’s voice, and let his hand wander up Viren’s back to grasp his hair. 

“Do you need my cock, Viren?” 

He pulled the mage’s head up by the hair, eliciting a pained gasp. 

“I need your cock, please.” 

The elf chuckled once again, pulling Viren upright and then shoving himself inside again, skin slapping on skin as Viren’s cries rose to a crescendo. The fingers of one elven hand held him by the hair, the others found his nipple and pulled, adding more sweet torment to his maltreated body. 

Viren exploded with a scream as pain and pleasure sent him over the edge, his climax made all the sweeter by how long he had been denied it. He soiled his bed, himself, with the emission of his orgasm, and would have collapsed in a spent heap had it not been for Aaravos firmly holding him up. 

The elf kept shoving into him with relentless force as tired moans escaped Viren’s sore throat, until he finished with a low rumbling groan, spending himself deep within his victim and finally letting him fall back down onto the bed.

Viren lay panting on the filthy sheets, hot fluids running down his thighs as Aaravos pulled out of him. He was spent, finished, utterly worn out. He had let the elf bring his deepest needs to the surface and satiate them, and he was not sure if he felt like he did not know himself at all, or like he now finally knew who he was, what he was. 

The magical shackles fell away from him and Viren came to lay on his side, facing the elf and taking in his expression of languid delight.

“Oh my dear king Viren,” Aaravos hummed and reached out a hand to caress the side of Viren’s face. “I believe we will have  _ much _ to do on our way to Xadia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for reading and sticking around while I was mustering up the courage to post this :D
> 
> As mentioned before it's my first time posting smut of any kind, so if you feel like any relevant tags are missing please do let me know and I'll add them!
> 
> Edit: also I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/loves_tainted) now, would love some follows.


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